Unlikely Family
by adams0165
Summary: While reading the Maximum Ride series, I started thinking about all the teenagers in the real world, making it on their own, without any superpowers. I drew on the relationships between the characters in this series, but turned them into regular teenagers, homeless due to no fault of their own. This is the struggle of Josh, Charles, Elise and Leah, coming together to survive.
1. Chapter 1

**Josh**

"She's gone, son." My stepfather said this the minute I came home from school. I thought he meant she'd left us like my dad had years before. He just didn't come back on day.

"What? Gone where?"

"The asthma and cigarettes finally took her." His voice cracked, and he rested his head back in his hands and began weeping.

"Dead?"

"Dead," he cried, and that was the end of the conversation. I sat at the table and cried with him.

The next few days were a blur of caskets, funeral homes, people crying that I didn't know, and relatives hugging me that I'd never seen. Mom's parents showed up long enough for the funeral and left again. Mom hadn't spent much time with them in years and I wasn't close to them. They weren't the nurturing type of grandparents who wanted me to visit on weekends and in the summer. They never sent cute kid toys for my birthdays or Christmas. They always sent a check with a card simply signed 'love grandma and grandpa.' Mom said she named me after her dad, Joshua Anthony, in an effort to create a bond, but it never happened.

After it was all over and the last mourner had paid their respects, Juan and I were home alone.

I was born to a white American mom and a Puerto Rican dad. Mom worked hard and was an excellent parent. Despite the fifty-hour work week at the local supermarket, mom always managed to make it to PTA meetings, parent-teacher conferences, and any other activity I participated in. She rarely missed a Little League game, and if she did, she'd make sure another parent was there to keep me safe until she picked me up.

Life was good with Mom and me. It helped that I was a good kid, always did my homework, got all A's and B's and was polite to teachers, neighbors—everyone. In fact, all of my teachers raved in my report cards about what a good kid I was. My teachers would say things like, "Joshua is mature beyond his years." "He's a joy to have in my classroom." "He's always so polite—wish I had a dozen more just like him." Comments like that would make Mom so proud, and I wanted to make her proud.

When I was seven, Mom met another Puerto Rican man, Juan Rodriguez. She was in love with him from the start, and it didn't hurt that in Juan she found a father figure for me that shared my heritage. Juan was a good man. He worked construction and moved us to a small house. Mom hired an attorney, took the necessary steps to obtain a divorce from an absentee husband, and married Juan.

Mom's one bad habit was smoking. She was a two-pack-a-day smoker, and Marlboro Reds her brand of choice. That's bad in and of itself, but to make matters worse, she had asthma—the kind that means you should never be without your inhaler.

When I was younger, I would destroy her cigarettes whenever I had the chance. I'd throw them away, pour water on them—anything I could do to stop her from smoking. Mom never seemed to appreciate my efforts. She'd just get mad at me for wasting so much money.

Over the years, you could look at Mom and know the cigarettes were taking a toll. Her skin became pale, she lost weight, and the wheeze in her breath got louder. I knew she wanted to quit. I also knew she couldn't.

And now she was gone.

I had no idea what Juan would do with me. I wasn't his legal child, but he was a decent enough man not to send me out in the streets so I quietly kept living there.

Juan started dating a woman about a year after mom died. She was a pretty redhead with two kids. She had a six-year-old girl and an eight-year-old boy. I was excited by the idea of having more kids around, even if they were a lot younger. I thought we'd be like a family again. I quickly figured out that if there was one big family, I was not going to be a part of it.

Juan's girlfriend, Marie, would come by and they'd all go out to a movie, or bowling, or to dinner and leave me at home. I was never once invited to go along. Juan would leave me some money and the number of the pizza place on those nights, I guess as a way to placate me for being left at home alone. This went on for a year.

On my fourteenth birthday, I heard everyone downstairs and thought surely I'd get included on a family outing on my birthday. I went running down the stairs just as they were all leaving. Juan turned around and, seeing the look on my face, said "Hey, Josh. I guess it's your birthday today, isn't it?" He only knew because I'd gotten a card from my teacher and left it on the fridge.

"Yeah, it is. Fourteen today," I replied, thinking I might still get invited.

"Well, happy birthday, kid. I left you some money on the counter to get some pizza," he said, and I started crying. A fourteen-year-old boy, old enough to be considered a man in some cultures, and I just started crying.

"Why?"

Juan sat down. The others had gone out to the car, and I could hear it running.

"Your mom was the love of my life, Josh. A part of me died the day she did. I'm trying to start over, rebuild, but the fact is you are a constant reminder of losing her. I see you and I feel a sadness that nothing can take away. I simply can't be near you. You're a good boy, always have been. You never give me any trouble, but it's unbearable to be around you. For your mother's sake, and for yours, I'll never run you out. You can live here as long as you like. You just can't be a part of my life. I really am sorry, but I have to move on without you." He had tears welling up in his eyes.

"Okay," I responded with more stoicism than I felt. "Thank you for being honest and for giving me a place to live. It's probably more than others would have done."

"I've got to go. Treat yourself to something special at the pizza place. Happy birthday."

"Thanks, Juan. Take care, man." And with that he left. And this time so did I.

I packed my stuff up that night. I had no idea where I was going, but now that I knew I wasn't wanted, I couldn't stay. I didn't want to be Juan's charity case. I was on my own.

When Mom was alive, she was adamant about saving for a rainy day. Every time I got money for my birthday or Christmas, she would make me put it in a big box that she kept locked. I broke into that box and was shocked to find five hundred dollars. I silently thanked my mom and took my life savings, along with the twenty dollars Juan had left me for pizza, and wrote him a quick note promising to stay away so he could move on. And then I left my home.

I didn't know where to go. I threw on my backpack and started pedaling as far away from Scranton, Pennsylvania, as I could get. I rode for a couple of hours before deciding to go into a convenience store and get something to eat. I overheard a guy saying that he was heading south to Hagerstown, Maryland, and was having a hard time staying awake. I figured he could use some company and managed to hitch a ride. I threw my bike in the back of his pickup and hopped in, dodging questions about my age and backstory along the way. Before I knew it we were in Hagerstown—three hours from the place I had known as home for fourteen years.

It was midnight, and as I watched the driver fade into the distance, I was feeling a little nervous. I rode my bike until I reached a town called Martinsburg in West Virginia. There was a small mom-and-pop motel, Curt's Place, with a sign out front that flashed, "Rooms $19.99. Stay five nights, get two nights free!" Sounded shady but I was exhausted. I parked my bike and went in to the front lobby.

"I need a room," I said to the man at the front desk.

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Really? You look older. We don't rent to anyone under eighteen." He dismissed me and went back to reading his well-worn People magazine. I stood looking at him for a minute, taking in the disheveled, wrinkled clothing, the paunchy stomach, and blonde-gray hair in bad need of a trim. I decided to try again.

"Fine, I'm eighteen." He frowned. "Help me out here, would ya? I've got cash."

"How long are you staying?" he asked.

"Forever? A day? I don't know."

"One hundred cash will get you a week. Maid service is once a week. If the room is too wrecked, she won't clean it."

"Done," I said, peeling off one hundred dollars exactly from my wad of cash.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Josh. Yours?"

"Curt. I own the place."

"Nice to meet you, Curt."

He gave me a room key and told me to keep the door locked and not to open it for anyone. I took his advice.

The room looked old, but it was somewhere to sleep, and for a week it was mine. I had enough money for five weeks if I begged for food. It wasn't enough. If I was going to make it, I was going to need a job, and soon.

I dropped my backpack and with my clothes still on fell into bed. I'd have to figure the rest out later.

I hung out at the motel and didn't leave the room except to buy some food at the local minimart. It was scary being on my own, and I didn't know where to go or who to trust. I was too sad to find the energy to do anything but watch TV. I missed my mom more than ever. I kept wondering how I ended up like this. I needed a plan.

I was starting to feel desperate when on my fifth day outside the minimart, a guy started talking to me.

"Hey, I've seen you here for five days in a row. What's your story?" he asked.

"Story?"

"You're obviously not in school, although you probably should be. Homeless?"

"Is it that obvious?" I asked.

"Yeah, 'fraid so. Do you have a job?"

"No, I'm not sure where to go to find one," I replied.

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen," I answered, the lie now coming easily.

"Bullshit. How old?" I hesitated. "Seriously, how old are you? You may look it, but if you were sixteen you could get a job."

"Fourteen," I confessed.

"Yeah, it's going to be tough. The law won't let you work during daytime hours when you should be in school. At best, you could get something menial for a few hours at night. Not enough to get by."

I scowled at him. "Well, thank you for that depressing piece of information." Under my breath I added 'asshole.'

"Look, I just lost my runner. I'm actually looking for someone to help me."

"Your runner? What's a runner?"

"Runs packages to clients for me. Pays one-twenty-five per week, no taxes taken out."

"What would I be running and where? I don't have a car."

"You've got a bike," he said pointing to my bike. "It's local stuff. You can do it by bike."

"What's in the packages?" I asked, figuring it couldn't be legal.

"Weed. Nothing harder. I mainly supply some yuppies who still like to get high but aren't into the heavy drugs."

"But it's illegal."

"No shit, dude. But you're fourteen. What's the worst that can happen? Juvie? It would be better than what you have now."

"Are you a cop?" I asked.

"No. I've been watching you the last few days. I hang out here and shall we say, do some business. You come in every day, buy a little bit to eat, and hang around. You aren't in school and you're obviously on your own. I've never seen you before so I figured you just got into town. I'm looking for someone. You need some money. We can either make it work or you can walk away."

"I don't know the area."

"I'll draw you maps. You'll only be going to about twenty places. So you in or out?"

"I'm in as long as I don't have to do the drugs." I offered.

"Smart kid. I highly recommend you don't do them."

He told me to meet him back there tomorrow, same time, and he'd have my first packages to deliver and would pay me for half the week. I returned, on time, expecting to see a cop when I got there, but I didn't. Just him. I asked his name and he said I could call him Breeze. He told me not to tell him or anyone else my real name either. I told him to call me Wind. He laughed. He handed me a TracFone—one of those prepaid cell phones—and said I was only to use it for emergency situations when I needed to reach him. He gave me the emergency number. I took the addresses and maps, took the packages, and wrote down his specific instructions on where to leave everything. He gave me seventy-five dollars.

I was afraid to knock on the first door, firmly expecting to see a dirty, drugged out, mean-looking person. But instead I was greeted by a nice man who looked to be about thirty. He was dressed in khaki pants with a golf shirt, had short brown hair, and looked like he could work in a bank. He thanked me, gave me a five-dollar tip, and I was on my way. That was pretty much how every stop went. These people weren't scary at all. I was finished the deliveries within three hours.

I decided if I was going to live in a motel room, I might as well make it feel more like home. So I went to Wal-Mart and bought a bed-in-a-bag, a nice big towel, a washcloth, some toiletry items, and a cooler. I loaded my goods into a shopping cart and pushed them two miles to Curt' Place.

I did four more deliveries that week and got the rest of my money, which paid for another week at the motel. I filled up my little cooler with ice from the lobby ice machine, bought some milk, orange juice, and sports drinks at the minimart, and—deciding I needed a way to cook food—went back to Wal-Mart and bought the cheapest microwave they had. For what it was worth, I was home.

The first year on my own was a blur, and each week was pretty much the same. One-twenty-five a week, and I'd make about eight to ten deliveries on average. I talked to no one, made no friends, and stayed out of sight as much as possible. I was a missing person that nobody missed. The only person I talked to was Curt, and we would sometimes play cards for hours. On the night of my fifteenth birthday, we played cards until two in the morning.

"I like you, kid. You can stay here as long as you want, and I'll keep it to one-hundred-a-week for you. You don't cause me any trouble, and you always pay on time. I wish all my customers were as easy as you."

"Thanks, man. Hard to believe it's been a year since I've been here. I just turned fifteen today."

"Kid, you know you told me you were sixteen a year ago."

"Crap," I said.

"Lucky for you, you look older than you are. You're too young to be living like this. I admire you, though. You're making it on your own when most kids would be dead by now. I never see you drunk or drugged or even smoking. Hang in there. You'll get a break someday."

"Thanks, man. I'm heading to bed." I got up and walked to the door.

"Kid?" he yelled, never using my name.

"Yeah?"

"Happy birthday."

"Thanks, man." I went to my room, locked my door and went to bed. One year down, how many more to go like this?


	2. Chapter 2

**Charles**

Mom always told me that if anyone touched me where they shouldn't, I should tell her. So I did. She confronted her boyfriend, Don, who naturally denied everything. I could hear them fighting and he was threatening to leave her and take all their drugs with him. Mom never knew where Don got the drugs and she never got them herself. Without Don, she was afraid she'd have no drugs.

Mom came into my room and started yelling at me. She told me I was selfish and that I couldn't stand the fact that she'd found a man to love and had a life that didn't include me. Then she told me how I'd ruined her teenage years.

I couldn't believe this was the same woman who had nurtured me for eleven years. The last year had been a complete nightmare thanks to Don, and I had damn near been raped. When she and Don passed out from their crash, I packed a backpack and walked right out the front door. I took fifty dollars out of Mom's purse on my way. I didn't leave a note or anything. I just left.

I never knew my dad, although mom described him as a "good-looking white kid with way too much charisma." When his parents found out he had gotten my mom pregnant, they moved out of town, never to be heard from again. So it was just Mom and me for the first eleven years. We were good together and took good care of each other.

She was young when she had me, just seventeen. She greatly disappointed her parents by getting pregnant in her senior year. Mom is from a mixed racial background. Her mom was of mixed race and her dad was African American. This combination made for a very beautiful daughter—my mom, Marcia. Her parents were determined she would be the first in the family to go to college and really make something of herself. When she got pregnant, they were so disappointed, they pretty much disowned her. Mom had been trying to make it on her own for a long time, and we were doing pretty good.

Mom met Don when I was eleven. Don was what I would describe as white trash. I'd have preferred her to date within the black community. Even though I was of mixed race, I identified as black because that's what people saw when they looked at me. I had light-brown skin, dark brown eyes, and curly black hair that I kept cut very short. Maybe a black man would have treated me with more respect. Then again, maybe not. As soon as she started dating Don, I noticed a change in her. I had no idea what was causing her weird mood swings. She suddenly had very little interest in anything I was doing. I only managed to stay in sports thanks to my coaches coming to pick me up and drop me back off. I spent more and more time on my own, in my room, and I missed her.

One night, when she and Don thought I was sleeping, I walked into the kitchen to get some water and stopped in the doorway. They never saw me, but I saw them. They had needles out on the table along with some other things I'd never seen. I didn't know exactly what they were doing, but I knew it was drugs. Her only concern became getting high. She still worked, but as soon as she and Don got home, they got high. I stayed out of Don's way as much as possible. But then he moved in. And that's when it got really bad.

Mom was working late one night and Don was wasted. Later that night, he came into my room while I was sleeping. Don was a big guy, and I'm a small kid. He took off his clothes, got in bed with me, and started rubbing my back. I assumed he was so stoned he thought I was Mom. I was scared to death but just lay there without saying anything. When Mom came home and yelled up the stairs, he quickly got up, put on his clothes, and left. I didn't say anything to mom.

Nothing else happened for a month, and then Mom worked late again. Don came into my room and there was no doubt it was me he wanted. I was sound asleep and by the time I woke up, it was almost too late. He nearly had my pants off. It was so awful, it literally made me sick. I threw up, thank God, which stopped him in his tracks.

Now, I was on the run. I knew I had to get far away from Harrisonburg, Virginia. I walked to the highway and hitched a ride from a trucker. I had never hitch hiked before and I was terrified. The driver was a big, burly man but had a nice smile. I just wanted to disappear. I got up in the truck, curled up in a ball, and fell asleep. When he stopped for gas, we were in Martinsburg, West Virginia.

"I think I'll get off here," I said. "Thanks for the ride."

"Not so fast. I think you owe me something for this ride, don't you?"

"I only have fifty dollars to my name. How much do I owe you?" I couldn't stand to think I'd have to give up the only money I had.

"Well, maybe we can do a little trade deal." As he said the words, a feeling of disgust washed over me.

"Trade what?" I asked, stalling for time.

"How about a little personal favor, if you get my drift?" He unzipped his pants.

"No way, man. Take the fifty dollars."

"I don't want the money. If you want out of the truck, you'll do what I say."

"Screw you, man. It ain't happening," I protested with more bravery than I felt.

He lunged at me. "Did you not hear me?" he yelled.

"No!" I reached for the door handle and he grabbed my wrist.

"Don't screw with me, boy."

"I just ran away from home because of a guy like you. I'm not doing it. I'd rather you just kill me," I said, and I meant it.

"Shit. Just get out of the truck. Now!" he demanded. I grabbed my backpack and ran as fast as my feet would carry me.

It was late, it was chilly, and I was scared, hungry, and alone. I didn't want to spend the little money I had, so I went without eating. I started to wonder how long I'd have to go without food. I knew there were shelters for homeless people, but at my age, I'd either get sent back home or to some kind of orphanage.

I remember reading a story about how churches used to keep their doors open at night so people could come in and sleep. I doubted they did that anymore; even churches had to worry about people robbing them. But it was worth a try. I found a church after and tried the doors. No luck. The church was locked up tight.

It did have an alcove that was secluded, blocked the wind, and seemed as safe a place as any. I wrapped my coat tighter around me, put my backpack under my head, curled up and finally fell into an exhausted sleep. I got up the next morning before anyone arrived at the church and started walking around town. I was so hungry and thirsty I could hardly think. I wasn't desperate enough to start rummaging through trashcans but I was thinking about it.

I stopped at a McDonalds, just smelling the food. A woman walked past me and I got up the courage to say something. I wasn't sure she would respond to a kid begging for food, but I had to give it a try.

"Ma'am?"

"Yes? May I help you?"

"I really hate to ask this, but I forgot my lunch money today," I lied, "and I'd really like to take something to school to eat." She looked at me skeptically, but seemed appeased when she glanced to the backpack I had on.

"Sure, I can get you something. What would you like?" I didn't want to spend too much of her money.

"I don't need anything much."

"Okay. I'll be out in a minute." I didn't know if she really would come back or would duck out the other side. But ten minutes later she returned with an Egg McMuffin meal, with a hash brown and orange juice.

"Thank you so much!" I exclaimed, and it was all I could do not to tear into it in front of her.

"Do you have a home? Or somewhere to go?"

"Oh, yes ma'am. I'm on my way now." With that, I headed in the direction of the "School Crossing" sign. "Thanks again, ma'am!" I yelled behind me and she waved.

I walked past the school to a park and found a little gazebo to sit in. I opened my meal and ate as slowly as I possibly could. I finished half the sandwich and half the hash brown and carefully wrapped it back up to eat later. I drank the entire orange juice, though.

I had brought some books with me and sat down to read. I watched the kids get out of school around two-thirty and envied the normal life I assumed they would go home to. I missed my mom. I felt like a five-year-old, but it was true: I missed my mommy. I would have given anything to be back in my bed, but before he came into the picture. Back when Mom was still a good, loving mom.

I watched the high school students practice football for a while and then walked down to the mall. It was getting late, and I was getting worried about where I would go. I sat in the commons area on the couch and ate the rest of my breakfast. I stayed in the mall until it closed and then started walking in the direction of the church. I figured I was safe there last night, so I may as well stay there again. I could tell being homeless was going to be miserable. I wondered why any kid would run away from a perfectly good home. If mine had been at all decent, I'd have never left.

Just then I noticed someone following me. At first, I couldn't be sure, but then the footsteps got closer and closer. I tried to find a store or something to duck into, but there was nothing. Before I knew it, I was being grabbed from behind and knocked down to the ground. I tried to stand up but was kicked.

"Give me your money."

"I don't have any money!"

He roughed me up, kicking me and slapping me in the head. He went through my pockets. I was thankful I had thought to hide my money in my sock. He found nothing which made him mad, so as a parting blow, he punched me. I was turning away so he only caught my shoulder, but it still hurt like hell. He grumbled and kept walking. I figured he was high on something. I turned around and ran as far and fast as I could in the opposite direction.

As I was running, I saw a motel called Curt's Place with a sign advertising rooms for $19.99. With fifty dollars, I figured I could get a room for two nights and it would give me time to think. I didn't want to sleep outside again. It was scary, and I knew it was only a matter of time until I was discovered as a runaway, or worse, I was attacked again.

I went in and talked to the guy at the front desk.

"I need a room," I stated flatly.

"How old are you kid?"

"Twelve."

"I can't rent to a twelve year old … runaway?" I nodded. "Go home."

"Easier said than done. Please, sir, let me have a room for the night."

"Can't do it. Go home," he said, and with that turned away. I went outside and sat down on the stoop under the sign and cried.

I probably sat there for a good hour when a guy came up to me. I wiped my tears and tried to look strong.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Nothing," I replied.

"Why are you sitting here?"

"Nowhere else to go, and that jerk in there won't rent me a room. Says I'm too young."

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Twelve."

"First rule of being a kid on the streets: Lie about your age."

"Thanks for the tip. Too bad you weren't here an hour ago," I said with attitude.

"You've been sitting here for an hour?"

"Did you not hear me? Nowhere else to go, man. Listen, I slept in a church doorway last night, freezing my tail off and pretty darned scared, if I have to admit it. And I just got roughed up while a guy tried to rob me of what little money I had. I'm cold, tired, scared, and hungry. And that jerk in there told me to go home."

"That's actually some good advice," he said.

"You wouldn't say that if you lived in my home."

"Fair enough. Come on, you can bunk with me tonight," he offered.

"Forget it. I'm not having sex with you."

"What the heck, dude. Do I look like a pervert?" He looked like he wanted to smack me.

"No, but neither did the other two who tried," I said.

He looked at me for a minute before extended his hand. "I'm Josh. Also a homeless teen."

I stood up and shook his hand. "Charles."

"Come on, Charles" he said. I got up, grabbed my backpack and followed him.

The room wasn't bad considering how awful the motel looked. It had two beds, a microwave and a cooler

"How long have you lived here?" I asked.

"A little over a year," he answered. "I only have one good towel, so use the cheap hotel ones. Grab a shower if you want."

I looked at him, and he could read my mind. I wasn't about to get naked in front of this guy.

"Lock the bathroom door. Geez. I'm not coming in. In fact I'm going up to the office to talk to Curt, 'the jerk' as you call him. The room's yours." And with that, he left.

I took the opportunity to go into the bathroom and take a hot shower. I used his shampoo and soap, and it felt good to get clean after the disgusting things I'd been through that day. I swore to myself that I'd kill the next guy who tried to touch me.

I brushed my teeth, threw on a t-shirt, and crawled into one of the beds. Considering I thought I'd have to sleep on the ground, I felt this was a big score.

A half hour later, Josh returned.

"I talked to Curt and told him you were staying here tonight. He's cool enough. Try to get some sleep, and we'll figure out what to do in the morning." He went into the bathroom, took a shower, brushed his teeth, and came out and climbed into the other bed. He was asleep in mere minutes. When I was sure he was sleeping, I relaxed and allowed myself to fall asleep.

I woke up the next morning to the smell of breakfast. For a minute, I thought I was back home with Mom, before Don, before drugs, when she used to make me breakfast. I opened my eyes and saw Josh microwaving some breakfast sandwiches. He poured two cups of OJ and set up the little corner table.

"Wake up, Charles. Breakfast's on." I got out of bed and walked to the table.

"So, what's your story?" he asked as he slipped a breakfast sandwich onto a plate and handed it to me.

"My story?"

"No one runs away from a good family. If they do, they're stupid. So you're either stupid or you've got a story. So what is it? I don't need all of it. Just give me the basics."

I paused, trying to figure out how to sum it all up. "I had a great mom until a year ago. She started dating a guy, Don, and he got her hooked on drugs. She became this person I didn't know. She never spent any time with me and was always high and with him."

"Drugs suck but why would you risk your life to be on the streets just because your mom was high."

"'Cause Don decided sex with me might be more fun than sex with my mom," I blurted. "Happy?"

Josh paused. "Shit. Sorry, man. That sucks. I mean, that really sucks. Did you tell your mom?"

"Yeah, and she accused me of lying. When they got high and passed out, I left."

"When was that?" he asked.

"Two days ago."

"Damn. I'd have left, too. I actually left for less than that. What's your plan? You have family anywhere?"

"Nope. I had Mom. That was it. I have no plan. After two encounters with that scum, I figured he'd rape me the next time, so I left before he had the opportunity."

"All right, I get it. You can't go home. You're welcome to bunk with me until you figure it out."

"Seriously? You'd let me do that?"

"I was in your shoes a little over a year ago. Curt helped me out by letting me live here. The least I can do is help you. Hell, you're a kid compared to me," Josh said.

"I definitely don't feel like a kid," I said. "I feel like I've aged a decade this past year."

"I hear ya," he replied.

We finished breakfast, and he said he had some work to do. I asked what he did, but he told me rule number two of living on the streets is that I never ask any homeless kid how they make a living.

I watched TV, read some of the magazines Josh had laying around, and went outside and took a walk. As I came back to the motel Curt yelled out to me.

"Josh vouched for you, so I'm not going to run you out," the man said.

"Thanks."

"You have absolutely nowhere you can go?" he asked.

"Trust me, if I did, I'd be there," I responded.

"Okay. Just stick with Josh. He's a good guy, and he'll help you out. You can trust him."

"Thanks, man. I need someone I can trust right now," I admitted. I went back to the room and waited for Josh. He came back that afternoon around three o'clock.

"I need to find a way to make some money," I said. "Do kids still get paper routes?" I asked.

"I don't know, but let's find out." We looked up the address of The Martinsburg Journal, and saw that it was close to the motel so we walked to their office.

"I'll wait out here." Josh said, as I walked in.

"May I help you?" the lady behind the desk asked.

"Do you have a paper route?" I asked.

"I don't. I'm sorry. Are you looking for a job?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How old are you?" she asked.

I figured there was no use lying this time, so I just came out with it: "Twelve."

"Hmm, that limits things, huh? You know what might be good for you? I think I saw in the classifieds that an elderly woman is looking for someone to mow her lawn once a week. I think she said she'd pay twenty-five dollars a week. It's not much, but it's something. Wait a minute while I get the paper." She went in the next room and grabbed a paper. When she came back, she opened the paper to the classifieds section and jotted down the name and number of the woman.

"Thank you," I said as she handed me the number. "May I use your phone?"

"Sure." She put the phone on the counter and I dialed the number. I spoke to the woman and told her I'd like to mow her lawn, and she gave me the address and told me to stop by. I thanked the woman at the paper and walked outside to where Josh was waiting. He looked at the address, nodded in recognition, and led me to the woman's house.

The house was two-stories high with a big wrap around porch. It looked older but well taken care of. As I stood on the porch, I could feel a wave of anxiety come over me: What if she had already found someone to mow the lawn? I needed this job more than anything. The woman who opened the door looked like she was in her seventies and immediately I could tell she was very nice. She introduced herself as Ms. Minnie, said she was relieved that someone finally responded to the ad, and agreed on the spot to let me come by the next day and mow her lawn. If I did a good job, she said, I could come by every week and mow it for twenty-five dollars a pop. Maybe she'd have friends she could tell about me, I thought. I figured I could mow a few lawns a week.

"She hired me to mow her lawn tomorrow," I told Josh, who had waited on the sidewalk. "Twenty-five dollars a week. I know it's not much, but I can buy my own food. I can't help with the rent, though."

"Don't worry about it. As long as you don't cost me money, we're good." We walked back to the motel. Josh made us some mac and cheese. We watched TV until late and fell asleep.

My job as a lawn boy started the next day. I showed up at Ms. Minnie's house, and she gave me the key to the shed. I took out the mower, checked the gas, started it up and spent the next two hours mowing her lawn. When I was finished she raved about what a good job I had done.

"I'd be happy to weed your gardens, too, ma'am," I told her hoping she'd pay me more.

"Well, they do need it, don't they?" she asked with a smile on her aged face. "I'll tell you what: You weed the gardens, and I'll pay you another ten dollars."

There were a lot of weeds, and it was worth a lot more than ten dollars, but I needed the money and had nothing else to do, so I agreed. Weeding took another two hours. Before I left, Ms. Minnie offered me cookies and iced tea, which were delicious. I left soon afterwards with money in my hand. As I was walking down the sidewalk, she yelled for me to come back.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"What are you doing tomorrow?" she asked.

"Nothing. Why?"

"I have to go grocery shopping. The grocery store boys always help me load my car, but then I have to unload everything by myself when I get home, and it takes me many trips and I get very tired. I go shopping at ten. Meet me here at eleven and unload my car, and I'll pay you another ten dollars."

"Yes, ma'am!" I replied with enthusiasm I hadn't felt for I didn't know how long. "I will see you tomorrow." She smiled and I walked back to the motel with a skip in my step.

I told Josh all about it when he returned from wherever he had been. He was clearly impressed.

"Thirty-five dollars for your first day, huh? Not bad!"

"And I'm going back tomorrow to unload her groceries for another ten," I said proudly.

"Good for you, man. Like I said, you pay your own way, and you're welcome to stay as long as you want."

Every week Ms. Minnie had something different for me to do. I think she was just lonely and was finding reasons for me to come over every couple of days. She never had any visitors and spent all her time alone. She'd make me lunch and it was always something really good. Lunch was her big meal of the day, she said, so she'd splurge. We had tacos, spaghetti, stuffed peppers, and without fail, freshly baked cookies. I always had fun at her house. Maybe life would turn out okay after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Leah**

I've never been as intelligent as my sister, Elise, but I have better street smarts, as my mom used to tell me. In school, I've always skated by with B's and C's, which is fine by me. Elise would go places in life, come hell or high water. I hoped I would too, but wasn't sure how I'd get there. All I know is that if I get there, it wouldn't be by getting all A's like Elise. We both attended public school in Martinsburg, West Virginia and lived in an apartment in a not-so-great section of town.

My sister has always liked nice clothes and pretends she's from a better family situation than she is. I've never cared what my clothes look like, but I wear the nice clothes she buys me for her sake. I think she worries that if I didn't, her friends might catch on that she just puts on airs, and I wouldn't want to hurt her, even though I think it's lame.

I think it was easier on me in some ways when Mom left 'cause I had Elise. Elise was more like my mom anyway. She always made sure I was fed and well clothed, and she helped me with my homework. So when Mom walked out on us to be with her new boyfriend in New England, I still had Elise. I didn't realize how hard it was for her until I caught her crying at the table looking at bills one day. I realized that Elise couldn't do it all herself. I had to make money but had no idea how.

Elise left for work one Wednesday, so I walked downtown to try and find a job. After being turned down at half a dozen places, I came across a guy at a local bar who said he could help me make some money fast. He said his name was Willie. Willie had long black hair, styled like the 1980s with feathered bangs. He wore three leather necklaces, a leather bracelet, jeans, and a black T-shirt. He was a poser—a guy who wanted to look mean and menacing but actually wasn't. I could see through him immediately.

"Cool, I need it, like, now. What can I do?"

He paused and looked at me. "Let's just say I know some men," he said suggestively. "Decent men looking for some action with a young girl."

"Action? What kind of action?" I asked, naively.

"You know what kind of action," he replied with a grin on his face.

"Sex?" I asked, not even sure what all that entailed.

"Not necessarily. Just some time with a young—well, a young lady," he dodged, avoiding a direct answer.

"Who are these men?" I asked in disbelief, still not sure what he was implying.

"Middle-aged men who just want to get a little something on the side. And they like them young. I think it reminds them of their slipping youth."

"Isn't that illegal?" I asked. Suddenly I had flashes of those Law & Order episodes Mom used to watch. "Are you, like, a pimp or something?"

"Hell no. These men just slip me a twenty now and then and ask me to hook it up. I don't take any money away from you. Whatever you get is what you get. I just so happen to have someone inside right now that has fifty bucks ready to give to someone. You want it or not?"

I still didn't know what I was supposed to do to get it. All I knew for sure was that we were desperate and I had to do something. I silently cussed my mom for leaving us.

"I guess. How hard can it be?"

"It'll be easy. They'll let you know what you need to do. No worries," he assured me.

"Okay then. I guess I'll give it a shot," I volunteered.

"And if they ask, just tell them you're sixteen."

"Why would I tell them that? I'm only thirteen."

"Trust me. For this, you're sixteen."

Before I could ask any more questions, he went into the diner and walked out with a well-dressed guy I guessed to be in his mid-thirties. He wasn't ugly, but he wasn't exactly handsome, either. He looked clean and well put together, though. I saw him slip Willie a twenty-dollar bill, and then he came over to me.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi," he said, looking me up and down. "You want to walk over to my car?" Suddenly I was scared—as scared as I've ever been. Terrified, actually. I started thinking about those Law & Order episodes again. Isn't this how young girls always end up dead? I didn't know what else to do, though, and I really needed that fifty bucks, so I went. We got in his car, and he turned it on and turned up the radio. It was on a rock station and the music cleared out the horrible thoughts in my head.

"So, uh, what do you want me to do?" I asked, just wanting to get it over with.

He leaned over and whispered in my ear exactly what he wanted me to do.

"Oh, gross! Are you kidding me?" I scrunched up my face, appalled. "That's freaking disgusting. There's no way I'm doing that!" He looked like I'd just hit him. He told me to get out. Then, as soon as I was out of the car, he tore off across the parking lot.

Willie ran over. "What the hell did you do?" he yelled.

"I didn't do anything. Do you know what he wanted me to do?" I whispered it to him. "How gross is that?" I challenged defiantly.

"It's not gross. It's what people do." He was clearly angry.

"Well, it sounds frigging disgusting, and I told him so." I glared at Willie like he was nuts to even think I'd be into it.

"Get out of here, kid. Good luck finding a way to feed yourself." Just hearing that brought me to hysterics. I had failed at the only offer to make money that had come my way. I'd failed Elise, and now we wouldn't be able to eat or pay rent. I started shaking convulsively.

"Oh geez, kid. Stop it. Come on, stop it." His body language softened a bit and he put an arm around me. I sniveled into his shirt.

"Okay, how's this? I need some decoys. Some young girls to just hang around the bar so the guys know chicks are here if they want them. You don't have to do anything with them, but maybe flirt a bit and make them think you will. Then I can steer them to someone else. But it's important that you tell everyone you are sixteen. Got it? I can't pay you what they would, but I'll give you twenty bucks a night for just hanging out here and being nice to the men. Can you at least do that?"

Flirt? I thought. I don't know how to flirt. I'm thirteen. I didn't even like boys that much unless we were playing kick ball or something. Then they could be fun. But if it was the only way to make money, I would learn.

"I did tell him I was sixteen when he asked," I assured him, not able to think of anything else I'd done right.

"At least you can take direction. Okay, go to the restroom, clean your face up, and just hang out. Be sure to smile a lot and be friendly, no matter what. Can you handle that?"

"I can. I swear I can." I ran into the restroom, cleaned up, and spent the next few hours being friendly with the men. At first it was awkward. But there were a few other girls doing the same thing, as well as some waitresses, and I watched the way they leaned in to the men, flipped their hair back, giggled, and sometimes touched their shoulders or backs. I tried to do the same thing. It felt kind of icky at times, especially when they looked at me like I was their next meal, but some of them were really nice and some seemed very smart. I had never really spent much time with men since I didn't know my dad, and in a weird way, I actually enjoyed talking to a few of them. When I saw them leave with another girl though, it grossed me out knowing what they wanted to do.

The next morning I told Elise I'd made twenty dollars. She looked at me suspiciously, as if I'd just crossed some horrible line.

"What did you do?" she demanded. I instantly felt guilty.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"No thirteen-year-old can just go out and make twenty dollars. Are you doing something you shouldn't be?"

"No," I said, trying to think up a way that I could have made it. "I've been out looking for a job and some guy at the diner hired me to do odd jobs, like sweep the floor and things."

"And you made money doing that?"

"Yes, I did," I replied emphatically. "Do we need it or not?"

She sighed. "Yes, we need it."

"Then how about saying thank you, biotch," I taunted.

"Thank you. And don't use that word."

"You're not my mother," I challenged.

"No, I'm not. But I'm the closest thing you have," she challenged back. I knew she was right.

When we got the eviction notice, we were both in shock. I'd spent the last couple of months flirting with men on Wednesday and Fridays nights. Some of the men slipped me a five or ten just for hanging around, talking to them, and letting them paw at me. I never saw the man whose car I'd gotten into again, but there were others like him. There were the men who came in just to have their wings and beer, and then there were the ones that wanted young girls to hang on them.

I was making about fifty dollars each night. It felt kind of creepy, especially since these men were three times my age or more. Every so often they'd grab my butt; once in a blue moon they'd grab my breasts, although there really wasn't much to grab. Once or twice a drunk guy tried to kiss me, but I was usually able to evade them and sometimes Willie would even step in. He seemed happy with how I was handling myself and didn't want me to quit coming in. I think he just liked me in a big brother kind of way. I hoped the extra money would help Elise keep the apartment. It didn't.

We had to leave the day the eviction notice was posted as we'd already had our thirty-day warning. We were sitting on the stoop outside our apartment building, Elise was crying when this good-looking guy walked by. He looked young but like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Hey," he said. "You okay?"

"We just got evicted," Elise answered.

"Evicted?! Where's your parents?" I asked.

"What's it to you?" I said.

"Hey, ease up. I was just asking."

"No dad. Mom left months ago. Happy?" I raised my eyebrows, challenging him.

Elise jumped in with a softer tone. "Our mom left us, and we've been trying to make it on our own but we couldn't. The landlord didn't know Mom left 'cause we didn't want to get sent to a foster home, so when we got the notice, we didn't fight it."

He extended his hand. "I'm Charles."

"Elise."

"Leah."

"Where are you gonna stay?" he asked.

"No idea," Elise said. "Unfortunately, Mom's parents washed their hands of her when she got pregnant with me, and if we have any family out there, we sure as heck don't know who they are."

"Do you have any money?" he asked.

"Some," Elise said.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Sixteen. Leah's thirteen."

"If you have one hundred dollars, I can get you a place to stay for the week."

"Really? We'll take it! We literally have nowhere else to go," I said.

"Shouldn't we find out what it's like first?" Elise asked.

"Because we have so many options?" I asked, giving her the eye.

"Okay. Where is this place?"

"Follow me," Charles said.

It was about a one-mile walk. We ended up at a run-down motel. He keyed a door and we went in.

"I don't know if the owner will be okay with this, but my roommate Josh has a way of making Curt agree to things. So we'll wait until Josh gets home."

"This is where you live?" Elise said, the disgust in her tone obvious.

"Hey, don't knock it. It beats the street," he replied.

"Good point," she said.

Josh came home about an hour later. He was hotter than hell. And I was only thirteen and didn't even care about that kind of thing. He walked in, took one look at the two of us and said, "What the hell?"


End file.
